— 8 — URSULA OF ROOSELAARE“Say I have done well for you — it seems that I must ask your thanks.”
The Pope sat at a little table near the window of his private room in the Vatican and rested his face on his hand.
Leaning against the scarlet tapestries that covered the opposite wall was Theirry, clothed in chain mail and heavily armed.
“Yea,” answered Theirry. “And is it for my sake ye have done this?”
“Must you question it?” returned Michael, with a quick breath. “Yea, for your sake, to make you, as I promised, Emperor of the West — my vengeance had else been more quietly satisfied—” He laughed. “I have not forgot all my magic.”
Theirry winced. “The vision in the Basilica was proof of that — what are you who can bring back the hallowed dead to aid your schemes?”
“Do you think I am not
